La Traviata Crown Fracture; Photo Larry Stanier

Prologue of a soon to be published book; The Avalanche

By Ken Wylie

         January 20th 2003, deep in the Selkirk Mountains of Canada’s British Columbia. The peaks are blanketed in snow that is deeper than the height of a man. It is overcast and white out. New snow is lightly falling from the shapeless clouds that envelop us. The -4 centigrade air is moving softly out of the southeast. We methodically travel uphill setting a sinuous ski track up the pristine blanket of snow that connects us to the summits.

         Our two groups of backcountry skiers collect, at the frozen snow covered Tumbledown Lake, for our first tea break of the day. Our objective is to ski up and down two peaks, Fronalp, and La Traviata. We started our journey today from the Chalet that is perched on the far side of the Cairns creek valley far below. My smaller group which has been bringing up the rear, number eight in all, including myself, Vern Lundsford, John Seibert, Jeff Bullock, Paula Couturier, Joe Pojar, Kathy Kessler and Dennis Yates. We join Reudi’s Beglinger’s lead group of twelve. His group includes; Charles Bieler, Rick Martin, Keith Lindsay, Bruce Stewart, Age Fluitman, Rick Reynolds, Evan Weselake, Naiomi Heffler, Dave Finnerty, Craig Kelly, and Jean Luc Schwendener.

         As I scan the group I see nothing but depth of experience. Craig, was a four time World Champion snowboarder who is now becoming a ski guide. Naiomi grew up skiing in the Canadian Rockies and is a ski instructor. Jean Luc cut his skiing teeth in Switzerland and for the last ten years has been living and working in a remote mountain lodge. Several members are from Truckee California and veteran skiers of the Sierra Nevada. We have all skied all over the world and now seek the greater challenge and risk of skiing in the Selkirk backcountry, away from groomed and controlled ski hills, and the lift lines.

         The equipment we are standing on is incredibly versatile and allows us to easily climb up and ski down these steep slopes. Adjustable plastic boots are mounted to our skis with bindings that allow normal walking movement as we stride uphill. Clinging to our ski bases are climbing skins, (synthetic copies of the seal skins that early ski mountaineers discovered would slide forward but not backward in snow which made skiing uphill possible.) Each of us wears and carries vital avalanche rescue equipment for finding and extricating buried skiers. Transceivers with both send and receive functions are worn on our torsos under our jackets and aluminum avalanche probes and shovels are in our packs.  I checked these tools at the start of the day and they are ready to be used for finding our party members if buried by an avalanche.

         Some members talk in pairs, jokes are shared, a number of the skiers sit on their backpacks and others stand on their skinned skis as we consume energy bars, cookies and sandwiches from our lunch bags and tea from our thermoses. Refueling our bodies for the next leg of the journey.

         I tilt my head back and to the right to see the steep rock studded headwall of Tumbledown Mountain, which looms above us through the clouds to the east. I feel the knot that has been in my stomach all week, tighten as my eyes scan an ailing matrix of rock and snow above me as it comes in and out of view through the Selkirk winter murk. There is a ice crust from a rain event in November sandwiched near the bottom of the snowpack that the whole season’s two meter depth of snow could easily slide on if triggered. This feature of the snowpack makes skiing these aggressively steep slopes potentially unsafe.

My thoughts and emotions race. . .

There is a clear message in my gut. There is no stable snow to ski on the slopes of Tumbledown. I feel sick with dread about going here. My heart is screaming at me to turn around. I need to listen to myself.

         Reudi shoulders his pack, rotates his skis around and points them up mountain and carries on smoothly uphill with his group following behind. After helping Vern remove the retention straps from his skis, I shoulder my pack at the front of the second group and move onward.   Vern behind me says:

         “ You know Ken I am frustrated about being in the slower group. It is tough for me to go this slow.”

         “Yes it has been difficult getting people into the right groups this week.”

         “ I came here to be challenged and moving in the slow group is not all that challenging.”

         “Perhaps your challenge is to let go of it and learn to go slow?”

         “ I am not so interested in that”

         “Well I will talk to Reudi tonight and we will see what changes we can make.”

         “Ok”

         I see Reudi putting a right turn in his up track and begins breaking trail up La Traviata. I call Reudi on the radio to ask where we are going. At the break I had taken my pack off, which had the radio in it, so I failed to hear Reudi’s call into the Chalet indicating his intentions for the next leg of the journey. Reudi replies; “We are going to La Traviata first, I radioed that in to the chalet at the break.”

         With his group of twelve in front of my seven, Reudi works confidently with his skis up the pristine snowy slope from the lookers left side of La Traviata. He is building a perfectly inclined ramp for our two groups to follow. I marvel at his track setting precision.

         My stomach knot tightens as I see Rudi put his turn in toward La Traviata. I know should talk to Reudi and re-establish our goals in relation to the conditions. We need to work together. But I am too afraid. I can’t seem to get it together to check in with him. I find him intimidating. I just want out of this situation.

          Standing on the approach track to the slope with my group under a rock cliff on the left, I ponder our situation. The lead group is well established on the steep slope above. I feel incredible stress.  I see and sense enough signs to tell me not to go onto the slope. There is a large hanging drift of snow, directly across the slope from me. It looks fat and ready for a release. The other group is above and one member, Rick R is racing back and forth from edge.         

         Behind me Vern says; “I don’t like it . . .being below the other group” I reply weakly, “Neither do I” hoping for help from behind but there is only silence. The pull of conformity overpowers me and I say; “Wait here and follow with 3 meter spacing when I wave you into the slope.” I move out onto the daunting slope following the track that Reudi made just a few minutes ago. My lungs and heart both expand my chest. Conflicting thoughts and emotions are racing way too fast to be of much use.

         I have to do this I have no choice.  I came here to learn how to ski the big lines from Reudi and I need his approval.  I want to be a respected member of the guiding community. I have to follow.

         I use my ski pole as a probe to sense the snow just as Reudi had done. But my movements are staccato with indecision. Stride, stride, stride, stride, stride probe and find solid snow. Stride, stride, stride, stride, stride probe and find solid snow. The snow-pack has no trace of a surface instability. It feels really solid. Looking down the slope through the flat white light, I see a concave feature at the bottom. I tell myself that the slope is supported and that will keep it from sliding.

         I just do not understand what I am doing here. I got into this outdoor game to find a sense of joy and right now I seem so far from that. What has happened to bring me here? I don’t belong.

         I wave my group behind me onto the slope. There is an intense tension in the air. Something is going to happen.  I feel it around all of us. The fear is near crippling me. Just before I reach a large pillow of snow at the far right side of the slope there is a direction change in the track that zigzags upward the steep grade. Screams of indecision envelop my being as I make the kick turn. After turning I make an effort to improve the platform for the others who are following by stomping my skis at the edges of the of the 160˚ turn. Now facing the other way I am able to see the entire length of my group. Intently I watch while slowly striding up the track, as my seven following group members one by one, commit themselves to the exposed incline, spaced 3-4 meters apart. We all move forward into this incredibly humbling and terrifying place.

         I hate myself for being here and I hate the pressure I am getting from Reudi. I should talk to him but I know where that will go. He will probably yell and scream at me and I will crawl inside my shell and lose any argument. This is bullshit. We do not speak the same language in our approach to the mountains.

         I am scared but I need to face my fear head on in order to expand to a new awareness of what I can do.   

         With all of my party completely committed to the exposed mountainside there is a sudden enormous release of energy from deep beneath the snow. A massive WHUMMMPH!!!!! I hear a number of people yelling from above; “AVALANCHE!!!” I feel an unworldly sense of movement under my feet. Reality shifts quickly as the immense 33˚ slope chaotically shifts beneath us. The speed of my feet becomes greater than my head and in a moment I find myself on my right hip and side as the living room sized slab of snow I am riding on accelerates down valley. I clearly see two people, Dennis and Kathy, who are at the tail end of the group, get hit broadside, by a 1.5 meter high, clean straight, block of snow that pushes them over, head first down the slope. The last thing I see before the snow swallows them is their skis floundering in the air.

         My mind clears and my polished responses take over. Kicking at my front binding that fastens my boot to the ski amazingly releases my right foot. The second ski comes of quickly with my free foot stomping on the binding. My poles disappear by reflex.

         I ride the slab of snow within the avalanche for what seems like an incredibly long time, feeling the rush of acceleration. Under the strain of movement over the terrain the slab eventually fractures and my legs and hips fall into the cracks that appear all over the surface. I kick my feet and paddle my arms to stay on top. The energy of the avalanche begins to dwindle and the snow eventually comes to rest where the slope meets the valley. I am buried up to my waist facing the bottom of the valley.

         I hear a WOOSH as a second wave of snow comes from behind and strikes me. There is no pain or discomfort from the impact of the second surge of snow, but it buries me deeply. Everything comes to an eerie silent rest. Almost every part of my body is packed tight in avalanche debris. Except my lower left arm and face share a beach-ball sized airspace. The airspace is lifesaving detail, after all of the chaos of moving snow. Taking stock I notice that I am encased upright facing downhill. There is some blue light above me. I wonder if they are a number of small connecting air spaces that lead to the surface. 

          My Atomic ski frames the back left wall of my air-pocket. Standing vertically, only the top 30cm of the ski is visible. I explore the futility of moving this ski with my left hand in an attempt to pierce the surface of the snow above and draw attention to where I am. I make minuscule lateral movements with my left wrist as my gloved-hand grips the red and white ski to lift it upward. The binding and ski tip snag in the snow and prevent the smooth glide I need to move the ski. I realize that the surface is impossibly far away. My respiration rate begins to race as I use up the oxygen in my airpocket with this effort. I let go of any thought of self-rescue.  

         Oh Shit, how am I going to hide from this? I know others are in deep trouble. I am responsible I saw them go over. This is a mess. How will I hide?

         My breathing gets faster. I place my head on my left arm and let myself pass out. Surrender is the only choice that makes sense. I relax and give myself to passing out.

Larry Stanier, LA Traviata Crown Fracture, January 21 2003

         There is a clear message in my gut. There is no stable snow to ski on the slopes of Tumbledown. I feel sick with dread about going here. My heart is screaming at me to turn around. I need to listen to myself.

         With all of my party completely committed to the exposed mountainside there is a sudden enormous release of energy from deep beneath the snow. A massive WHUMMMPH!!!!! I hear a number of people hauntingly yell from above; “AVALANCHE!!!”

*  *  *

My teachings are easy to understand and easy to practice. Yet your intellect will never grasp them, and if you try to practice them, you’ll fail.

My teachings are older than the world.

How can you grasp their meaning?

If you want to know me look inside your heart.

Tao Te Ching

 *  *  *

Hearing my heart but abandoning my words.

February 24th 1978 Scott Finlay crashes during the Canadian National Championships at Lake Louise Alberta. Photograph; John Colville

         On February 24th 1978, when I was thirteen, my family went to out to Lake Louise to ski and watch the Canadian National Championships Downhill the Shell Cup. It was a beautiful clear sunny winter day, in Banff National Park, with the mountains that surround Lake Louise in their full winter glory. The resort was festive with “Shell Cup” banners, music and announcers keeping the spectators informed about the race events and racer times. It was a perfect day for a downhill race.

         The speed that these racers were going was impressive, reaching velocities of up to 145km per hour on some sections of the racecourse. It was odd to hear them whistle past me, powerfully displacing the air without any noise from a motor. . . just the power of gravity. It was the first time I witnessed a downhill race live and I knew I wanted the experience someday.

         As an adolescent boy, I dreamed of being a Crazy Canuck. Two years earlier at St Thomas Aquinas Elementary School I was given the opportunity to go skiing with class and take lessons at the local ski hill, which was then called Paskapoo. Nervously I took the permission forms home with the hope that I would be able to go, and was delighted when my mother said, “Oh yes Daryl and Pat went when they were in grade 5 so I do not see why you should not go.” So in 1976, at age 11 I started downhill skiing.

         With all of us excited kids in our ski clothing aboard the yellow school bus we left St Thomas Aquinas School and drove to Paskapoo, the local ski hill on the west edge of Calgary. After arriving, those of us that needed equipment received a set of yellow K2 skis with brass Spademan bindings. Staying patient with the bindings was a rite of passage. They were not a simple step in binding and required three hands to operate.

         We met outside and split into groups by doing a short run to show off our skiing “stuff.” I was a little disappointed to be placed in a beginner group but since I had never been on downhill skis it was as honest appraisal. I was happy to be with my instructor Sharon. She was strong, competent and patient. We learned to side step up the hill, snow plough to reduce our speed and the snow plough turn which kept speed in check and changed our direction. I found these easy and wanted a bigger challenge.

         After the lesson I skipped the rope tow at the bottom “Bunny hill” and I went up to the top of the hill for one of my most memorable ski runs of my life.

         Forgetting the basics I had just learned from my ski instructor Sharon I pointed my skis, “figure 11” downhill from the very top. I could feel the growing resistance of the air against my body, and the bumps on the snow surface increased in intensity as I gained speed and momentum downhill. My skis wavered as my edges grabbed the snow, my balance crumbled and I scattered myself my clothing and equipment bits all over the slope. After the cranium rattling impact on the man-made snow surface I picked myself up, wrestled with the Spademan bindings until I got them on again and pointed them straight down once more just to repeat the same process.

         Speed was my natural default. I adore it to this day. I enjoyed the intensity of the experience immensely, even though falling on the hard snow hurt, a lot. At the bottom I arrived a little bruised, battered and weary of putting my skis back on time and again. Sitting at the bottom I reflected on my first run. I discovered the importance of some of the techniques that Sharon had taught us. I made my second run with more success when I started to apply the concepts of speed control.

         My life passion quickly became ski racing. Each weekend, and several nights a week I went to Paskapoo, to train or to race. We practiced slalom and giant slalom. Racing down the slope and turning around the required red and blue gates (poles) on the hard-packed man made snow was a great outlet for me at the age of 12. I loved being on snow. It was a medium that helped me express myself. When not on the hill I spent hours tinkering with my equipment; the skis, boots, and clothing kept my mind and hands occupied and focused. These were all vehicles for the rush of accelerating down the hill with as much speed as I could muster.

         The structure of the coaching and lessons designed for improving the technical aspects of my skiing at that age still did not fully grasp my attention. I was mostly unskilled but thought I was good. However, in 1976 during my first year of racing, I was not on the podium, but I won the most improved skier award from the ski club. At the time I thought I was well on my way to racing in the downhill discipline, but I had to wait until I was sixteen. The downhill has required turns to make around red and blue gates just like slalom but there are far fewer which translates to higher speeds and higher danger.

         The Worldcup Downhill captured my attention for a number of reasons. The speed and excitement that it generated but during the period from 1975 to the early 1980’s Canadian racers were on top of the ski racing world. I feverishly followed the racing careers of Ken Read, Dave Irwin, Dave Murray, and Steve Podborski. The Crazy Canucks.

         This group, were great skiers and great men. They were beating the odds in Europe through the uncommon use of teamwork. They would coach each other and share information with following racers that would help “the team” get a better result during world cup races. In some cases the information meant that the racer giving it was eclipsed. These men were movie star famous in Europe, less so in Canada, except if you were 12 or 13 and loved the idea of racing in a downhill race.

         However, on that crystalline day in early 1978 at Lake Louise ski hill, my father witnessed something that shook him up considerably. He was a member of the race committee which required that he make sure the racers went around the correct side of the red and blue gates and stay on the course. His assignment was to tend a portion of the racecourse just below a feature called Double Trouble. Double Trouble as the name suggests, posed a definite threat to all of the skiers racing, and was an exciting place to watch the athletes. Racers on the icy downhill course had to negotiate two highly technical transitional jumps, which needed to be taken in perfect succession. Dad saw a competitor, by the name of Scott Finlay, crash at this spot. Scott launched off of the first jump with too much speed and height and out of line for the second jump. This catapulted him, into an out of control cartwheel over the icy slope. My dads description of what he saw when Scott hit the ground was that “he was a rag doll, tumbling down the slope.” The images of Scott’s crash sequence, taken by John Colville, were in the Calgary Herald newspaper. Colville won a National Newspaper Award for the series of images. Scott and his parent’s life was forever changed by the crash. He was rendered unable to walk or talk from the debilitating head and brain injury he sustained. Scott still lives with his aging parents Hugh and Rosemary Finlay in Kingston Ontario. The crash was 33 years ago.

         Witnessing Scott’s crash gave my parents a better sense of some of the risk involved in down hill racing. Considering the loss that they saw play out first hand, they did not think it was worth it for me or our family to participate in such a danger filled sport. After careful consideration the next day they told me that I would never race the downhill discipline.

         Inside I was devastated. Racing resonated deep inside of me. The only reason I was a slalom racer was to build the skills I needed to be able to race the downhill. I was heartbroken, yet lacked the strength of will to honestly communicate how I really felt to my parents. I had seen brutal clashes before when my siblings spoke their minds with my parents. The yelling and drama that resulted was incredibly distressing and painful to witness, so decided to keep the peace and just obey. The next year I quit racing altogether.

         Amicable peace was kept between my parents and I, but it was a false peace. In my heart I resented their decision to keep me from racing. In failing to share the impact their decision had on me I built a rift between us. The ability to hear my heart’s voice began to fade. I kept the story I needed to convey to the world locked inside of me. Right next to a passion I felt I could no longer exercise. In failing to communicate I became less connected to my parents. I also began to become less connected to myself.

         A few years ago there was a parent who was flown by helicopter into a mountain, by the Banff Park Wardens, where her son was killed in a mountaineering accident. Looking up at the difficult, dangerous and daunting north face of the peak she said to the park official; “I had no idea my son did these things! He told us he rock climbed.” That week she lost more than a son. She also lost the belief that she actually had a relationship with her son. She was left standing there in the valley perhaps with a deeper emptiness than she would have had if she had not been “protected” by her sons by lack of information. We don’t do others any courtesy by keeping our activities, thoughts, hopes, dreams or opinions from the people we love, or anyone else. When we hide our perceptions we create isolation for our self and the people around us and we run the risk of deepening human tragedy.

         My parents did the right thing. They provided me with an opportunity to ski which cultivated my passion for the mountains. Both of them gained a greater understanding of their risk tolerance that day at the Shell Cup. They articulated it, and since I was legally too young to make those decisions on my own, they made a decision for me. They communicated their hearts wishes. They could not have lived with anything different. Nor should I expect them to. I simply needed to better communicate my disappointment so that they knew how I was affected. I needed to communicate so that I knew myself better by connecting to the knowledge of what fuels my spirit.  I needed to nurture my ability to listen to and project my heart’s voice. I practiced the opposite.

         A year beyond the apron strings and with my parent’s knowledge, I discovered climbing mountains (which ironically can be orders of magnitude more hazardous than ski racing) and I was off on my adventure, following new dreams. But I took with me the practice of abandoning my heart’s voice.  I had learned the wrong lesson.

*  *  *

Speaking my heart but failing action.

         The process of becoming a certified mountain guide in Canada is an arduous one. Not only is it physically challenging it is psychologically demanding as well. The overall certification crosses three main disciplines. Rock. Ski. Alpine. One must prove proficiency and leadership ability in all aspects of rock climbing, alpine climbing, and ski touring at two levels. First one must achieve an assistant level, which leads to an apprenticeship that is served for a year or two under a full mountain guide, and then move on to take the full guides examinations, with one exception. To become a full mountain guide one can skip the full rock climbing guide course / exam because that terrain and skills are covered off in the full alpine exam. The reason the full rock exam exists is for people who wish to only work in rock terrain and not the alpine (Which can be a prudent choice in our rubbley hazardous Rocky Mountains). The process is complicated and nearly killed me a couple of times, mostly a result of my failure to act from my heart and following that with my words and actions.

The history of the Association of Canadian Mountain Guides (ACMG) is closely linked with the National Parks as risk management strategy and for the most part it has worked. Mountain Guiding Canadians became IFMGA (International Federation of Mountain Guides Associations) members in 1972. The IFMGA is the governing body that sets the standards for mountain guiding internationally and Canada was the first non-European nation to become a member.

We owe much in western Canada to the European mountain culture we adopted.   The history of mountain guides in Canada is linked to the railway. As a means of attracting tourists the Canadian Pacific Railway railway imported Swiss mountain guides to professionally guide tourists in the great Canadian mountains beginning in 1899 when “Christian Haesler Sr. and Eduard Feuz Sr from Interlaken, Switzerland, signed the companies first seasonal contracts.”[1]  The early professionalism of mountain life in Canada did a great deal for helping make the railway viable. It was also the foundation for the outdoor industry we enjoy today. What we adopted was a way of traveling in the mountains and, a cultural way of being in the mountains. However, the European mountain culture we adopted was not exactly steeped in humility. It nurtured an order where the guide is beyond reproach. Surely, any person who has lived and worked with mother-nature in any way will know that humility is a desirable quality to nurture in wild and unpredictable places. But this was not how guides consistently operate. Being human, there is a tendency among some guides to believe in absolute mastery.

         The culture we assumed has strong elements of, competition, arrogance and hierarchy. These are traits that do not serve people well in the mountains or anywhere else. I personally abandoned my own sense of knowing in adopting these cultural traits for myself. Clearly, I had a lack of immunity to indulging my ego and I have at times been competitive, arrogant, and hierarchical.  However, they are not of my higher self, nor any other guide who works in the mountains. Hierarchies are great to be at the top of but not so great to be on the bottom of. . .as we all can attest. My friend Brian Spear once said something that I now know to be true.  “Hierarchies lead to chaos, but they are the only way out of chaos.”  To be aware of this and to use it is powerful.

         Oftentimes, Canadian Guides will place way too much value on gaining the accolades and glory that comes with being a leader. I, too, have fallen under the spell of such pressures, mainly to service my ego.  But cultivating a top down work environment and not listening to or engaging others in the decision making process leaves big blind-spots in the decision making process. When traveling in hazardous environments, it is a good practice to engage as many points of view as possible, so the group gets all of the information it needs to make good decisions.

         My ability to act with integrity was put to the test during my examinations to guide. Not because of the hierarchical environment, but because of my own lack of fortitude and resilience to follow my heart and keep following it no matter what I face. I have never done my best work in the grip of a hierarchy. Mostly because, I have felt squelched and am non-confrontational to a fault. Hierarchical situations have been my opportunity to spread my wings in the face of people who have a power that they do not understand the scope of, but I have failed to take up that challenge. To use my voice to articulate what I feel is the correct course of action and to exercise action has always been my nemesis.

         Ego based fear began to overtake me when I started working through the ACMG guides courses. An angst enveloped me that centred around not complying with the desired objective for the day and how I might be failed because of it. I was more afraid of rejection by the examiners or failing the exam than hearing my own inner voice of truth. My heart. I was listening to the wrong part of myself. Failing to believe in my own inner wisdom.

         On my assistant alpine exam in the summer of 1999  I completely deserted my ability to act from my heart. It was a hard, but beautiful, examination. The conditions in the Rockies were excellent with dry rock and good alpine ice and snow conditions. The weather was stunning with blue sky days, one right after the other for two weeks. We climbed in the Bow valley on Mt Cory, Mt Ball, Mt Louis, Mt Bell and Castle Mountain.  Castle Mountain was an epic of miscommunication which I fed into.

         Each night during the two-week exam we are given an objective for the next day. The method is, that in receiving the objective only the night before, it does not allow the aspirant-guides to “wire the routes weeks before” and therefore it cultivates the examinees ability to guide on-site, navigate, read terrain efficiently, and make efficient decisions based in all of the skills and with respect to the current conditions. The objectives are given the night before so the candidates have a few hours to make plans and do research on the next day’s objective without having time to go climb the route. It is a balanced approach when one looks at it from an educational perspective.

         Each candidate is typically in a group of three with one examiner.  This allows the assessor to work very closely and see all elements of the lead candidate’s performance and watch the other two, who are working in behind, in a guide client pair, from a bit of a distance. Candidates rotate into each position so the examiner can see each person lead a rope team. Each candidate gets to be the lead guide and lead the rope for the examiner, assistant guide leading the second rope for the client at the very end.  By the end of the day we have all rotated through being the lead guide, the assistant guide and the client. Only the examiner gets to be a client all day. However, they have a very difficult and dangerous task. They need to be tied to a candidate who is learning, and let them get into their groove and not disturb them, yet to be able to step in and save the day, just before it all goes to pot. Step in too soon, before a decision is really made, and the candidate gets frustrated. Step in too late after the mistake is made and it may cost someone’s life. A difficult tight rope-walk to negotiate.

         There are two agenda’s on any mountain guide’s exam. When I went through the exams these agendas were rarely if ever stated in any way that helped the candidate know what was really going on. Most times Candidates just got thrown curve balls designed to illuminate the candidate’s strengths and weaknesses. But these agendas are quite clear if one puts some thought into them. The first agenda was to examine and coach standard guiding practice on typical objectives, in rock, snow and alpine environments. The second agenda was to examine what the candidate is able to do when the day waivers from the original plan. This agenda is about reacting to the weird stuff that can happen in the mountains. Since the worst is not expected the candidate needs to react to scenarios. What this would mean was that the candidate would have to react, at any time, to a situation that the examiner conjured up. For example; halfway up a rock climb that has a difficult retreat the assessor may ask the aspirant guide to get everyone down safely from mid way up.  This second agenda was designed to see how the candidate deals with unplanned events when they arise. And a lot of days in the mountains have unplanned events in them. That’s what makes them an adventure.

         On day four of the 1999 alpine exam, on our way home in the van, after climbing Mt Louis we were told in a cell phone conversation, by the lead examiner, that we were to climb Castle Tower by the normal route on the east face the next day. From the summit we were to descend the west face to a notch between Castle Tower and the rest of Castle Mountain. The examiner said; “You have had a long day on Mt Louis and this descent will make it shorter because we can shortrope our way down.” Short roping is a way of moving roped together but without fixed anchors. It tends to be quick because all parties are moving at the same time and rock features and simple ropework protects the climbers.

         We were challenged with the task of descending by a different route. When I heard this I immediately stiffened up, knowing intuitively that it was a poor choice if the intent was to make the descent easier. When I questioned the examiner, he said, “Oh it is going to be easier! ”

         That evening, during my preparations, I made several calls to numerous guides to gather information on that particular descent route. All of them said that it was going to be dangerous with lots of loose rock, since the route Although traveled, it had not seen a lot of traffic.     Traffic on a rock face typically cleans off of all of the loose rock. One of the guides I called that evening even said, “boy that descent route sounds like contrived guides course bullshit.”

         The next morning four of us collected in the dark pre dawn parking lot for Castle Mountain. Andy Lecuyer, Mike Meilicke, the examiner and myself. First thing I did was confront the examiner about the proposed descent route. I explained that I had called no less than 10 guides and they all articulated the same thing. That the proposed descent route to the notch was a poor one. I even relayed the quotes. Although lighthearted, the examiner was not willing to adjust the itinerary and we began our hike in the dark Englemann spruce forest up to the mountain.

         The sun rose as we reached the upper mountain headwall, casting a beautiful pink light on the climbing route. We carefully checked each others harnesses and tie in points to the rope before our hands touched the rock. Our party of four ascended the route quickly and efficiently arriving at the summit early. The expansive flat limestone summit made walking over the top of the peak simple as we traversed over to the west side descent route. I peered down the west face, while munching on my granola bar and it was apparent that my research was correct. Andy, who was leading this leg of the journey made a few adjustments to the rope and prepared for a rappel. The descent down this steep face was not going to be easy as intended by the examiner. I articulated this to the examiner, but he simply said; “lets go and see.” Believing that he too was correct. I swallowed what I believed to be the right thing to do and began the descent with the other three. I knew it was wrong to go there, and I nearly paid for this mistake with my life with a compounding error. I said it, but I deferred the action to the examiner even though I clearly understood that he was making an error.

         The descent was terrible. The rock was loose and friable. It was difficult to find good natural anchors to rappel off of or even good cracks in the stone for piton placements to create the decent anchors we needed.  The process took hours. The tone became more like a common adventure where everyone was working together rather than a guides exam while we still loosely played our roles. I was “playing” the assistant guide role and on the fourth rappel I was lowered down to find a place to stage the next and last rappel. I found a small ledge at about 48 meters down from Andy who was lowering me. With some hunting and scrambling around, I was able to get a marginal one-nut anchor into a tapering crack in the rock and clip the end of the ropes to it. I attached myself to the J in the rope that this created and then anchored the client “Mike” to the nut when he arrived. Then I moved back to the small ledge. When I arrived back on the small ledge it gave way. I fell 10 feet before the whole system came tight. In the process lost my pack that was placed carefully on the ledge as I was rigging the system for myself and Mike. The situation came close to being a disaster because I very nearly fell 30m into the notch. I had clipped in, just moments before the ledge had failed. In an effort to find an anchor I had made the error of unclipping myself to allow me the freedom to move around and it nearly cost me.

         When the examiner approached us on his rappel descent I said “Nice quick descent route!” He said nothing. But was not entirely his fault. I had chosen to come down. I still selected to defer the decision to him even though I had the power to refuse. For years I was angry at the examiner. His clear failure to align his intent with the objective irked me. Had he articulated that we were going on a challenging descent in the interest of our development I might have had more understanding. But he indicated clearly that his intent was to take an easy short rope descent. However, I see now that I still had a choice but I abandoned myself. Only myself. Perhaps in effort to achieve the greater goal of becoming a mountain guide I had opted to abandon my integrity. So was becoming a guide worth losing my integrity and risking my life? Today I would say no. If you were to ask me then in the same clear manner, I might have made a different choice that day.

         There have been many studies about deferring to authority figures in morally challenging situations. The most famous of these is the Milgram experiment. Milgram who studied the affects of authority after the second world war, and Germany’s part in it, in an effort to understand how so many people could perform such terrible acts, such as the genocide of the Jews, based on the wishes of authority. Milgram devised an experiment where he could determine what percentage of people would kill another human being if told to by a person of authority. The result, from his now famous 1961 study, was that 65 percent would. In a recent replication of the study 9 out of 12 people would administer a lethal shock to people if told to do so by an authority figure. A staggering 75 percent.

         It is not up to the leaders, in any situation to get it right for us. Each of us needs to face people in positions of power and act on what we believe in our hearts, regardless of the consequences. Few leaders have the wisdom to lead with honour, compassion, and integrity so they need assistance from those they are leading. In this particular case the consequence of me refusing to go down the face would likely have resulted in failing the examination and the cost of having to take it all over again, perhaps to face some of the same difficult choices. The scenario actually cost me my honor and a piece of my self-respect. It reinforced the very character flaw that ended in tragedy on La Traviata.

*  *  *

Failing my heart

         Guides exams are a great training ground for understanding oneself if reflection happens. It has taken me years to really understand the second event and the lessons encapsulated in it. When we are ready, we can rewrite the past simply by shifting our perspective of it. The second event that happened occurred on the same exam. Having perhaps learned my lesson from earlier in the week, about acting on what I felt in my heart, I approached a similar situation with greater vigor. Yet in the end, I still failed to foster the correct lesson.

         We were on day 12 of the 14 day assistant alpine guides exam and as I mentioned before, it was an exam that was blessed with bluebird days. The downside to the blue bird days of course was that we were all getting tired by day 12 because the good weather had allowed us to climb every day and achieve all of our objectives. Part of the examination was to measure our endurance and that was happening. 10 and 12 hour days on the mountains we were climbing with elevation gains between 4 and 6 thousand feet were beginning to add up. On day 12 we were teamed up with Karl Nagy as our examiner. Karl was a wonderful man, who deeply understood the mountains and their interaction with people and the lessons that they can have to offer. He was strong, intelligent, but most importantly, humble in the mountain environment. He was well liked and respected because of the attributes.

         In our examination group were Pat Baird, Kevin Hodder, and myself.  Karl gave us lots of good solid information for the day coming up. We were posed the challenge of climbing the north peak of Mt Victoria in the Lake Louise group and were given specific sections of the route that we were to guide. Overall the route was to leave the Chateau Lake Louise and hike to the plain of six glaciers tea house then on up to the upper Victoria glacier to the col between North Victoria and Mt Collier. Then we would climb the north east ridge on Mt Victoria. My task for the entire day was to lead the leg from the summit of Mt Victoria back to the col between Mt Victoria and Collier. A very easy leg.

         We left the Chateau at 3am. After ambling along the cool flat path to the plain of six glaciers we began our journey uphill to the upper Victoria glacier. We arrived at the toe of the glacier, and while everyone was putting on their harness I noticed how tired everyone was. Pat was ill with a chest cold, Kevin was doing okay but his body language indicated he was weary, and Karl, who was known for his endurance, was laying down at the break. I was feeling tired too, but what I noticed most was that nobody was willing to be honest about how they were feeling. Weariness meant that we would not be as sharp or as safe as we should be for such an undertaking. Honest appraisal of this fact would be part of a solid guiding decision making process. But nothing was mentioned.

         As we carried on up the glacier I observed that all of us were moving poorly. At that point I was playing the role of the client at the back of the entire group so it was not my position to confront the situation. Playing the role of the client it is best to just follow and let things unfold or give an opinion when asked or check in with the examiner in confidence. I was weary of “the game” so I started to take matters in my own hands. I checked in with Pat about how he was feeling, using him as a sounding board and perception check. He said that he was feeling poorly. Immediately after checking in with him I called the group together on the glacier. The terrain required that we all go down together because to walk on the glacier alone and un-roped would not have been safe or prudent. In light of this fact I said;  “This is not the start of some discussion that goes around in circles and then we continue on with the climb.  We are going down from here.” My language was strong because I felt it needed to be. I wanted to act on what I felt in my heart and this was what it took. The group was shocked. Karl stood there with his mouth ajar not knowing what to do or say. Then he finally said; “Okay we will do something else with the day, lets have a discussion about what to do.”  I interrupted; “You are missing my point. We are all too weary to make good decisions in hazardous terrain. . . we need to go down.” Karl, mouth still ajar said; “Okay.”

         In the end we completed some navigation exercises including resections and went down off of the glacier and back to the Alpine club by 1pm. When other groups came back it was clear that I had made the right choice. The results on the day were abysmal. People made all kinds of mistakes that day and paid for it with their grades. There were many failures and lots of marginal performances, which I believe to be because everyone was tired and not on their game. However, the day was not done for me. The drama was just beginning to unfold.

         The lead examiner took me aside and asked me what I thought I was doing. I told him what I saw playing out and felt that I needed to correct the situation before anyone was hurt. His take on it was that I was the one who was not physically fit enough to manage the day and claimed that this was a very important part of the examination process and that I may have just failed my exam. I protested. “What I saw was weariness among all of us” and “I do not think we could have made good decisions on the mountain today.” Focused on the fitness issue he did not accept this answer and said that he checked in with the others and that they indicated that they were fine. I had nothing to add. He roused up the volunteer technical committee of the ACMG to gather and decide what to do.

         I was in limbo, while the technical committee deliberated about whether I still met the course requirements or not. The course carried on and we climbed Mt Bell. That evening the committee determined that I was to complete an extra day at the end of the exam with Karl on Mt Aberdeen. We would climb the glacier route to the Aberdeen Haddo Col and return home after that. I was interested to see that fortitude to stand up for what I saw happening in the group was not as valued as the ideal of physical fitness. The assumption was made that I was not physically strong enough. No mention was made to me directly about the strength and courage it took me to speak up in an exam situation. Because it was not mentioned, I felt like was being punished by a detention even though the lead examiner tried to couch the plan with the notion that I was being given the opportunity to succeed. Which it was. But the lesson I took forward was that I was punished for speaking up. This was clearly the wrong lesson for me to carry forward and played directly into the La Traviata tragedy.

         The final day with Karl was good.  We had a brilliant blue day to go on our final climb of the exam. It was enjoyable to spend time with Karl in a one on one situation. We had good conversation and I guided Karl up the Aberdeen Glacier route to the Col and at the saddle between Aberdeen and Haddo. While there at the rocky flats between the two summits, surrounded by beautiful snow covered peaks, Karl and I talked about the assessment.  He told me that I had passed my exam after giving me a few pointers on guiding technique. He indicated that I needed to keep an eye on my fitness and that the situation was difficult to manage from a course logistics perspective. I indicated that I was only acting on what I saw and that I had no regrets. We then carried on down the backside of Haddo and wrapped around to the pass between Fairview and Saddleback mountains and then down the path to the car.

         The very next year, Karl was working as an examiner on the Assistant Alpine exam. Again he was faced with candidates that wanted to turn around. This time they were in terribly bad weather. Their objective for the day was to climb the north face of Mt Fay. Over lunch inside the Neil Colgan hut, they decided to change their objective to Mount Little because conditions were poor and wet. After lunch the candidates asked numerous times to turn around off of the Mt Little objective and head home. But Karl wanted to make use of the day. As they approached the slopes of Mt Little a large block came out of the mist and hit Karl in the head and he was instantly killed. I was at home in Calgary when I heard about Karl’s death. I was deeply troubled. It made me wonder about a lot of things, the chief thing that I know now is how crucial it is to listen to the heart’s intuition of myself and all members of a group, no matter what the social cost.

         For my part it was a desperate error to fix my perceptions on being punished. In fact Karl had spent a great deal of effort trying to get me to see the events in a different way. I remember driving to Calgary with him from Canmore and our conversation the entire drive was about the exam and how I needed to see that it was my opportunity to succeed. I could not bridge that gap. I did not trust the examiners because of their failure to address the courage that it took for me to speak up. The story in my head became about the penance I served. Most importantly I abandoned the opportunity to congratulate myself for trusting my heart’s intuition and standing behind it in the face of the fear of failing the exam. Coaching rarely exists outside one’s own heart for life’s most valuable lessons. I held on to the fear. At the front of these was the fear of being punished and humiliated like that again. Rather than nurture the voice of my heart’s intuition, I cultivated the fear of being chastised again in the future. My ego prevailed as opposed to humility and grace.

         Over the years I spent a lot of energy wishing that people or situations would change. I still hope deeply that people in leadership situations lead with humility. Especially myself. However, the only person I can count on changing is myself. If I fail to listen to my inner voice, and what I know in my good heart, then I invite further difficulty for myself and those around me.

         Standing at the edge of La Traviata my cultivated behavior around failing to listen to my heart was on tap for me to use again.  I had habituated abandon my heart’s voice.  During my exams my efforts to guide with integrity were lost to the habit of selling out my heart.  All of the experiences on the exam were perfect. As a guide we face incredible social pressure and it is up to us to listen to our heart’s intuition to safely guide people through the mountains. The experiences I had on my exam were essential training for developing my integrity.

          La Traviata Avalanche accident in 2003 was comprised of the very same elements as my experiences on the exam, but the result so much more tragic. Kathy, Dennis and Vern paid for my mistake with their lives and they and many others lost.

         The work environment with Reudi embodied all of the elements of an unhealthy hierarchy which are so common in every day life. People only want to be part of a team after a tragedy. They want to stand on a pedestal. Wisdom dictates that we embrace a team environment before a tragedy. I needed to level the playing field on La Traviata by stepping out of my shell. But I did not possess the fortitude to do that. When I abandon myself I really do have nothing, am nothing. If I ever speak again on the avalanche accident, I will be ready for the question;  “So why did you go there?” I can say; “I sold my soul.”  My work is to buy it back.

*  *  *

Cultivating listening and acting

I was seeking quiet solitude when I jumped in my Volkswagon Jetta on Sunday the 3^rd of February 2008.  I knew I needed the time, space and quiet to begin to listen to what was locked deeply inside me.

At that time I had been working at the Canadian Avalanche Association heading up a million dollar project to help train professional avalanche responders. It was a worthwhile project that had the potential for being very helpful for the development of avalanche rescue in Canada, but I had to take care of myself. I knew I needed to do something in my life to manage the traumatic experiences I had lived through with the La Traviata avalanche and so un-practiced was I at asking for assistance that I did it in a reactionary way the moment I was fed up. I left everyone high and dry. I had reached crisis and I had to sort some things out. I did not care about money or time I just needed to be still and write and experience things that would lend perspective to the anger and frustration I felt inside. I acted in the right direction.  I had a hair trigger response to things and I needed to figure out why I was so deeply unhappy.

I got in the car with a duffle full of clothes, my wallet, a passport and my computer and began driving to Maine. My wife’s family had a home there and I needed to go and be alone there for some time. As soon as I accelerated up the hill heading eastbound out of Revelstoke I knew it was the right thing. A flood of tears came pouring out of my eyes. I spent my entire drive in tears. From Revelstoke to just east of Brooks Alberta on the first day. Then onto Brandon Manatoba on the second day. Then the long trek to Thunder Bay the third day. I slept in Sudbury the fourth day. On the fifth day I dropped in to visit Heidi Grasswick in Middlebury Vermont. After a day of rest with Heidi I finally I arrived at the house in Rockland Maine. The tears did not stop on the second day, nor the third and by the end of the fourth I realized that everything I needed to feel had come out as I sobbed my way across the continent.

I cried about a lot of things. I grieved for the first time, five years later, for the loss of Dennis, Kathy, Vern, Craig, Dave, Naiomi, and Jean Luc. I mourned for the loss of the innocence in my perception of adventure and for the illusion I had about my competence. I wondered why I had such a hard self protection about everything and began feeling the start of an opening. I was feeling joyful that I had embarked on this journey and had the guts to walk out on everyone else and finally do something that was truly for me. I cried in celebration for the fact that I was taking time to express things that needed expressing.

What I was heading to was the unknown and I was excited. Although I did not know what or how I would achieve what I sought, I knew I had made the first steps in the right direction. It was not an escape from my old life. It was an integration of it and it’s lessons. However, most of the things that I was doing in my life were not in line with my heart. I was running toward being a person who could listen to his heart, be courageous, speak the truth, accept himself and others, be connected, be peaceful, and embark on healthy adventure. The real me.

I spent my days in Maine writing. At that point my words were full of anger and blame. But they needed to come out so that I could see them against myself and check the facts with my heart. It was during this time that two of the seven lessons came to me. Listening and tuth. I knew I needed to express myself and begin to live my life in truth and to listen to my heart, so I kept writing. During the entire drive and the month in Maine I did not listen to music, television, or radio.  I spent the whole time in solitude and silence listening to myself. I wrote, walked on the beach, sat silently in a chair overlooking Penobscot bay, listening.

 I have spent 43 years creating one kind of man it will probably take the rest of my life to change the patterns that are so entrenched and for so long have been unknown to me.  But in silence the answers come. The most scary thing that came from silence was that I needed to deconstruct my life in order to achieve my heart’s honesty. I began this difficult process. I am sure now that there were other ways I could have done it, but those ways did not come to my unpracticed heart. Maine was the catalyst for a long slow and painful and error filled journey toward building truth in my life by trying to listen to my heart. I have made great strides and am rebuilding every aspect of my life. It is working. I have been developing alignment with my heart, word and action. I hear what is in my heart, speak to what is in my heart, and act on what is in my heart. These require that I am happy and grounded in listening to my heart. I continue on this journey today as I sit alone, in silence, listening as I act on writing these words.

What? Quit Using Fed Notes??

What Money Is & What Money Is Not – Living Without Money
A Walden for the 21st century, the true story of a man who has radically reinvented “the good life”.

In 2000, Daniel Suelo left his life savings-all thirty dollars of it-in a phone booth. He has lived without money-and with a new-found sense of freedom and security-ever since.

The Man Who Quit Money is an account of how one man learned to live, sanely and happily, without earning, receiving, or spending a single cent. Suelo doesn’t pay taxes, or accept food stamps or welfare. He lives in caves in the Utah canyonlands, forages wild foods and gourmet discards. He no longer even carries an I.D. Yet he manages to amply fulfill not only the basic human needs-for shelter, food, and warmth-but, to an enviable degree, the universal desires for companionship, purpose, and spiritual engagement. In retracing the surprising path and guiding philosophy that led Suelo into this way of life, Sundeen raises provocative and riveting questions about the decisions we all make, by default or by design, about how we live-and how we might live better.
Editor’s note: It sounds like we have another Outward Bound success story here. I read that Suelo has been an OB instructor. Good to see he’s living the dream, and it looks like some of the OB values rubbed off, but I’m sure he had influences from more than just Outward Bound.

A concert, but do you have the time to listen?

I play music professionally, and I too have noticed that the only population that really is open, I mean REALLY open to the music are the little kids. They stop,  stare, dance and get enthralled, no matter where, or who’s watching, or even what music it might be..

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that 1,100 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by, and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace, and stopped for a few seconds, and then hurried up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping, and continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally, the mother pushed hard, and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money, but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the most talented musicians in the world. He had just played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, on a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Thanks to Mills Chapman for the post

Pepsico...Just to Big for its Own Good

PepsiCo Inc. is a Fortune 500 global conglomerate with interests in the manufacturing, marketing and distribution of grain-based snack foods, beverages and other products.  PepsiCo was formed in 1965 with the merger of the Pepsi-Cola Company and Frito-Lay, Inc.  PepsiCo has since expanded from its namesake product Pepsi to a broader range of food and beverage brands, the largest of which include an acquisition of Tropicana in 1998 and a merger with Quaker Oats in 2001 – which added the Gatorade brand to its portfolio as well.
Since 1989 Pepsico has contributed more than $10 million to federal and state political campaigns, and since 1997 they have spent an additional $28 million on lobbying.  Topping their politician recipient list is former Pennsylvania House Speaker John M. Perzel, the alleged mastermind of the $13 million “Computergate” scandal that pled guilty to corruption charges and is currently awaiting sentencing.  Rick Perry comes in number two, with Ed Rendel, Barack Obama and George W. Bush rounding out the top five.
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We don’t know what Pepsico got from the money they gave to Perzel, but we do know at least one thing they are getting from their lobbying investment:  So far, it has kept GMO warning labels off of their products.
“GMO” stands for “genetically modified organism”, i.e. organisms whose genetic material has been artificially altered using genetic engineering techniques.  The USA is the largest commercial grower of genetically modified crops in the world, and at least 75% percent of the processed foods consumed in America contain GMO ingredients.
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GMOs are banned or significantly restricted in 30 other countries around the world, including Australia, Japan and all of the nations in the European Union.  But here in the Corporate States of America, consumers aren’t even given the benefit of GMO warning labels.. Read the rest of this story..

Confused about Labels in the U.S.? You should be!

How “Natural” Claims Deceive Consumers and Undermine the Organic Label—
From: Corporate Greed & Corruption Chronicles Chronicles

A Look Down the Cereal and Granola Aisle Companies’ Marketing Techniques Intentionally Blur Line Between Natural and Organic some companies that started out organic, and built consumer loyalty as organic brands, have switched to non-organic “natural” ingredients and labeling.  Peace cereal® is an example. Companies that market “natural” foods to eco-conscious and health-conscious consumers benefit from widespread confusion between organic  and “natural.” This section details various techniques that have been used by companies in their attempt to appear to be equivalent to organics, intentionally blurring the distinction to mislead shoppers.

Companies marketing “natural” products merely pay lip service to sustainability and eco-friendliness, while undercutting truly committed organic companies.

Bait-and-switch
Some companies that started out organic, and built consumer loyalty as organic brands, have switched to non-organic “natural” ingredients and labeling. Peace Cereal® is an example  of “bait-and switch.”  In 2008, the company that owned the Peace Cereal® brand, Golden Temple, switched from organic to cheaper conventional ingredients, without  lowering its prices. At the time of the switch, the company also did not change its package design, other than eliminating the USDA Organic seal and the word “organic” from its
cereal boxes. Most egregiously, it did not change the barcode on the cereal boxes. Many retailers and shoppers were unaware of the switch until e Cornucopia Institute conducted an investigation in late 2010.
Some retailers continued to use “organic”   read the rest of this story…